Death Sucks Read online

  “No, no, no….please no. Please?”

  “Damn boy, you’re giving me a headache.” The guard raised one arm, the sleeve of his robe slid down to reveal a hand that made as little sense as its owner. As white as fresh paper, each long, knotty finger sported an ebony claw any panther would be proud of. He aimed one at Bobby’s mouth, sealing it as if bonded by the world’s strongest glue.

  “That’s better, best you just listen before we run late. Can’t be late for your first day, can you Robert?”

  Bobby’s eyes bulged as he tried desperately to pry his lips apart. Reaching for his mouth, he stopped as soon as his fingers entered his field of vision. Ten long, pale fingers trembled before his eyes. He tried to scream but couldn’t. The pressure of his unvented fear made his head feel like it could explode at any second.

  “Are you going to calm down do I have to make you hurt?”

  Bobby looked at the guard. There was a hunger in his eyes, Bobby recognized the shine, they were addict’s eyes. He craved Bobby’s misery; it was what made him tick. Bobby was nothing more than a vessel in which the guard’s drug of choice lived. Extracting it was part of the game. Denying the hooded creep his fix was Bobby’s only way to fight back. He closed his eyes and tried to calm down.

  The guard twitched a finger and Bobby’s eyes sprung open. “You can’t hide in there.”

  He couldn’t blink or squint, no more than he could scream or yawn. He held the guard’s hungry eyes with his own and nodded his surrender. Disappointment flashed across the guard’s face, Bobby didn’t dare acknowledge it.

  “Found your big boy panties?”

  Bobby nodded.

  “Now let’s see if you can keep from shitting them.”

  Bobby shrugged, causing his robe to prod and poke.

  What the fuck is this thing made of?

  “Hangman’s ropes,” the guard replied matter-of-factly.

  Bobby shrugged his shoulders, releasing a fresh wave of discomfort.

  “The robe, it’s made from used hanging ropes.”

  Okay, whatever. What do I look like, a dumbass or something?

  “You’re a dumbass all right but I reckon you won’t be for long. Asses don’t last long where you’re going. Dumbasses, smartasses, wiseasses, they get filtered out pretty quick but there ain’t nothing pretty about it, no sir.”

  Even if he could respond, Bobby had nothing to say. The guard might as well have been speaking Latin, it would’ve made more sense.

  “Are you ready?”

  Bobby nodded, not knowing what he was professing readiness for. The guard swiped the air with his finger and Bobby’s mouth dropped open. Instinctively, he tried to inhale but found the simple act impossible.

  “Hah! Still in the dark boy? Not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed are you? No air here boy, don’t need it.”

  Bobby refused to believe what was becoming too obvious to ignore. “What?”

  “No air. No breathing. Simple stuff boy, you really are a dumbass?”

  Play nice Bobby, play nice.

  “I don’t get it, sorry.”

  “You will be boy, forever and ever, amen. Now, no more yapping, you get me? Just shut that pie hole and follow me.”

  Bobby nodded and when the guard stepped through the doorway, he did just that.

  *

  A long, narrow corridor stretched as far as Bobby could see. No ceiling capped the rough walls that climbed to meet a burning sky where flames floated like clouds. Scorching heat washed down from the vast inferno, painting everything blood red. Screams of agony echoed from everywhere as if the walls themselves were suffering. Nothing marked their passage as they trudged through the crushing heat and gale-force wailing. Bobby felt as though they’d walked for hours before the guard stopped, touched the wall to his right, conjuring a doorway from the stone.

  “Stay,” the guard commanded before stepping through the threshold.

  Bobby couldn’t help feel relieved at not being asked to join him. He studied the red flames as they danced across the sky. No fuel gave them life, no smoke gave them credence, yet their heat left no doubt of their reality. Bobby twitched and writhed, trying his best to ignore the fierce need to itch. The robe was so heavy, so hot, and so unbelievably uncomfortable. The sadistic fibers probed like an overenthusiastic proctologist with a grudge. It was trying to make him suffer.

  A piercing scream from the other side of the new doorway snapped Bobby from his sightseeing and his suffering. The guard’s laughter followed it like an obedient dog. Bobby knew some other poor soul was being tortured. Hate, pure and black, boiled in the pit of his stomach. His hands balled into fists, his legs quivered with anticipation, his mind ran through an assortment of bloody scenarios, all of which ended with the hooded creep in a broken, bloodied heap at his feet.

  The guard peered around the doorway, an evil smile plastered on his cracked lips. “I like your style Grant but you got a better chance of seeing Jesus in a Speedo down here.”

  He pointed at Bobby’s stomach and white hot pain exploded in his guts. Bobby screamed and collapsed, curling into the pain as if it were a cramp. “No more not so nice ideas Grant, understood?”

  Bobby nodded. The pain increased.

  “I need to hear you say it, those head-bobs only work on your boyfriend.”

  “Oh…okay,” Bobby pushed the simple word through clenched teeth, unable to unlock them, the pain was like vise.

  The creep smiled and ended the agony. “Come on now, on your feet… miles to go before we sleep and all that.”

  A young woman stepped from the doorway, her chocolate brown eyes wide with fear. Her long auburn hair hung down past shoulders clad in the same torturous attire Bobby wore. “Please help me!” she screamed and sprinted into his arms.

  “Ms. O’Connor, none of that,” the creep scolded and raised his wicked finger to punish her for the misdeed.

  The girl spasmed against Bobby’s chest, her eyes rolled white, her face twisted into an unflattering grimace. Bobby felt pity and anger mix in his mind. The hero in him wanted to save her but he knew there was nothing he could do, for her or himself.

  “Very good Mr. Grant,” the creep cooed as if praising a puppy. “There’s hope for you yet boy. Now push that bitch over here so I can continue with her lesson.”

  “No…please,” the girl moaned but Bobby did as he was told, shoving her toward the guard.

  “Up she goes.” The creep pointed skyward, the girl shot up like a rocket, her screams diminishing as she rose. Dangling upside down, as if tethered from her ankles by an invisible rope, she flailed high above them. Her robe bunched around her shoulders, exposing her nakedness. Bobby’ stomach churned at such ruthless depravity.

  Sick bastard.

  “Come on boy! Enjoy the show, look at them titties dance!”

  The creep twirled his finger, the girl pirouetted in the scorching air. “A little higher I think.” The girl rose as did the pitch of her screaming. Lazy tendrils of smoke floated from the bottoms of her feet. Bobby could smell her burning.

  “Ms. O’Connor, you have a choice to make, walk quietly or burn slowly. Think about it, we’ll wait.”

  She writhed and screamed but refused to answer.

  You’re giving him exactly what he wants.

  They waited as she burned but not for long.

  “I’ll walk! Please, just make it stop!” she cried, her voice raw from screaming.

  The creep wanted more. “Say pretty please.”

  “Pretty pleeease!”

  “With sugar on top?”

  “With sugar! With whatever you want! Pleeease!”

  “Okie doke.”

  He released her and she dropped like a stone. Bobby tried to get out of the way, the girl was plummeting right toward him. A millisecond before impact she stopped, hung for a moment then plopped to the floor with a thud.

  “Let’s go people, time’s a wasting!” The creep turned and continued onward.

  * />
  Three more blubbering victims joined the parade of suffering. The creep took his time in extracting as much pain and terror from each one as he added them to the procession. “Okay Grant, Dulvic, O’Connor, Tennen and Cinetti. All my little ducks in a row. Follow me, and keep those yappers from yapping, if you’d be so kind.”

  They walked on. The sky rained its heat down upon them with every step. Hours passed, longer, and still the creep strolled effortlessly onward. Bobby burned; his eyes, his throat, his skin, even his brain felt as if it was roasting within its bony oven. When there seemed to be no end a doorway appeared in the distance. Larger by far than those of the prisoner’s cells, it grew larger with every step. The creep stopped a few feet from the massive doorway, turned and regarded his wards from the shadow of his hood. “This is your stop boys and girls. Do as you’re told, he’s no softy like me.”

  “What is this shit?” a young woman, Cinetti the creep had called her, asked.

  “Shut that cockhole,” the creep growled and wiggled his finger.

  Cinetti collapsed in agony. The creep watched, grew bored, and released her.

  “Anyone else?”

  None spoke.

  “Good. Go on in, enjoy your day, and I’ll be waiting here for whoever survives.”

  Stepping aside he waved his squad toward the mysterious door and whatever horrors waited on the other side. Bobby shuffled toward it, praying for answers, for relief, for something better. He found none of the above.

  3.

  Four groups of five entered the chamber through four identical doors. Each wore the same torturous robe and the same mask of bewildered terror. Once inside, the doorways disappeared and they were alone. Bobby looked around for anything that might make sense of it all but the place was empty. He searched the crowd for answers instead. Young, old, black, white, brown, big, small, male, female; a standard group of strangers with nothing in common except their circumstance.

  “What the fuck’s going on?” an angry kid asked the question they all wanted answered. “This is some serious bullshit! I got rights yo, I got fucking rights!”

  “Shut the hell up!” a large man, bearded and heavily muscled, shouted back. “This ain’t prison boy.”

  His anger stoked well passed its boiling point, the kid reacted. “Who you calling boy, bitch? Best watch your mouth cracker or you’ll find out what’s up.”

  “Shut up, both of you,” a tall, thin woman hissed, her Eastern European accent as thick as her disdain.

  The kid and the bearded guy studied her closely. Her dark eyes, as steady as a cobra’s, their promise as deadly, dared them to respond. Neither one did, it was obvious to everyone that she was somebody used to giving orders and having them obeyed.

  “Greetings!” a jovial voice called out.

  All turned to find the source. Another tall, robed figure stood with his arms wide as if he meant to pull the crowd into his embrace. “I am Jones,” he said, bowing like someone who knew how.

  Blank stares were the only response.

  He raised one arm, extended one finger and wiggled it. Pain exploded in Bobby’s guts. He cried out, joining the chorus of the others writhing all around him.

  “It’s only polite to respond in kind when someone introduces themselves you bunch of heathens,” Jones explained, disgusted. “Now let’s try that again shall we? I am Jones.”

  The pain was incredible, Bobby’s guts were on fire and it was spreading fast. He fought, knowing it would only get worse if he didn’t, trying with all he had to give the new creep exactly what he wanted. “Hello,” he groaned.

  The pain ceased. Others did the same, two could not. The tough talking kid and the woman at the back of Bobby’s line, O’Connor, flailed on the floor, unable to overcome the agony.

  “Our first failures, so sad but so necessary,” Jones shook his head and snapped his fingers. “Pay attention ladies and gents! See what awaits the weak.”

  All heads turned in unison, not one under its own control. The light from the burning sky faded and the room went dark. A door appeared in the floor, flames reached from within as if hungry to feed. Two shadows appeared, the fire licked them lovingly as they climbed from its embrace. They marched toward the crowd, their legs twisted, their gait erratic. They were not human, not anymore, if they ever were. Someone screamed. Bobby’s bladder let loose but nothing came out.

  As thick and black as old biker leather, the creatures’ skin glistened as blisters ruptured and pus oozed. Two crooked horns sprouted from their misshapen heads, a small black flame quivered above each point. Secured by blackened chains, each carried a bastardized hay fork, their curved tines too long to be practical, their stout handles at least twice as long as the creatures brandishing them.

  “Take them,” Jones hissed and they eagerly set to the task.

  One found the kid, drove its fork through his stomach and hoisted him high until he hung like a banner above the beast. The kid squealed miserably as he slid down the spikes. O’Connor, realizing her fate, found her strength and screamed, “Hello! Hello! I…I said it! Hello? Hey? I said hello!”

  “There are no second chances here I’m afraid,” Jones said, frowning insincerely.

  The second creature drove its fork deep into O’Connor’s chest, hoisted her off the floor as she begged for mercy she would never receive, and turned toward his comrade. Unperturbed by their victim’s thrashing and wailing, they turned as one and retreated toward the flames. The kid and O’Connor continue to beg. Jones snickered at such futility.

  The beasts marched unfazed into the inferno as the flames rose to greet them. Descending unseen stairs, they ported their screaming victims into the depths of the inferno. The door disappeared, quenching the light and the screaming, returning the room to dark silence. The sky bloomed, fire caught and spread, illuminating the room with scorching light.

  What the fuck just happened?

  As if the bizarre event was nothing more than a commercial break, Jones resumed his well-rehearsed greeting, “Let’s get on with introductions shall we.”

  No one dared reply, Bobby could almost see the fear hanging over the crowd like early morning fog.

  Jones pointed to Bobby. “We’ll start here, you.”

  Perfect.

  “Let’s hear your name, last only because…well, because I said so.”

  “Grant,” Bobby winced as the word crawled from his throat.

  Jones nodded. “Next.”

  “Dulvic.”

  “Te…Te…Tennen.”

  “Cinetti.”

  Jones applauded once all eighteen names were offered. “Very good. Now, let’s see if anyone knows where we are?”

  Nobody did or was brave enough to risk answering.

  “So you are all as stupid as you look?”

  Silence.

  “A little coaxing then.”

  Deep, violent pain erupted in each member of the mute audience.

  “Hell,” a female voice called out a moment later.

  The pain stopped.

  Bobby turned to see who spoke. It was Cinetti . She was his age if not a few years younger, dark-haired and pretty, if not for the fear and misery. He nodded but she ignored it.

  “Good Cinetti, very good,” Jones said with a smile. “Beautiful and smart, and a great lay I’m told.”

  Hearing the claim, more eyes turned to explore her. She kept hers on the man in charge.

  “Wrong but close,” Jones continued. “At least you have balls unlike the rest of these, dare I say it? I will, these useless cunts. Anyone else?”

  “Are we in purgatory?” an old man asked, his voice trembling and weak.

  “No Bryson, getting colder I’m afraid,” Jones replied and chuckled at his own odd joke.

  “Ain’t prison right so maybe, I don’t know, like….is it some sort of experiment, like a military thing?” the bearded guy asked, his voice held none of the fear Bobby felt.

  “Van Holt, an unusual guess but no.”


  “A TV show?” a young girl called out.

  Jones shook off her suggestion. “Come on class, you can do better.”

  Class? Weird.

  “School?” Bobby whispered.

  “Very good Grant,” Jones yelped. “What kind of school?”

  Nothing.

  “Come on fools!” Jones cried after enduring a few long seconds of silence. “Think about it. Flames, forks, robes.”

  Nothing.

  “Idiots.” Wiggling one treacherous finger, he cast the group to agony once again. Crippling screams echoed but did nothing to elicit the answer needed to cease the cause. Jones relished the symphony of suffering, grew bored with the tune and released them. “One last hint but, if you lot can’t sort it, I will be forced to concede that not one of you is worth my time. Here it is. You’ve earned the spot in which you stand. Here the bad are good but the horrid are better. Those who succeed will rise and those who fail will fall.”

  “Hell,” a woman called out.

  “Stupid bitch, you’re not listening!” His finger jumped, Dulvic fell, frothing and beating herself off the floor. “She’ll stay that way until one of you figure it out,” Jones explained.

  No one spoke, no one dared, the price of failure was far too high.

  “Not a morsel of guilt in any of you for this poor girl?” Jones asked.

  “Devil school?” somebody spoke up from the far side of the room.

  “Mr. Shu, you chinks are indeed an intelligent lot but you’re not quite there yet I’m afraid. Come on, so close, don’t give up.”

  “Torture school?” a teenager with a mass of jet black hair swept forward to cover his face croaked.

  “So close Mr. Tennen, so close. If you had only stayed in school instead of besieging it. Come on you useless piles of dung!”

  Dulvic thrashed like an epileptic break-dancer.

  “Grim Reaper school!” Cinetti screamed.

  The thrashing stopped.

  “Very good Ms. Cinetti, you really are the cat’s pajamas, aren’t you? If I still had a cock I’d stick it in every one of your holes, might even make a few of my own, if I’m being honest.”